


don't wanna walk alone, so let's get married

by orphan_account



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, im not kidding i hope youve been to the dentist lately
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-20 18:02:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21285875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Brock is and has always been, if nothing else, a hopeless romantic, earnest and endeared and always trying to please Elias. So Elias already knows Brock’s about to say something ridiculous yet simultaneously adorable and lovable when he has that face. Brock leans up to kiss Elias, long but chaste, a little dry in the winter air. Elias smiles into the kiss.When Brock pulls away, he says, “Petey, will you marry me? Tonight?”Elias says, “What.”(Five times Brock proposes to Elias, and one time they finally get engaged.)
Relationships: Brock Boeser/Elias Pettersson
Comments: 30
Kudos: 179





	don't wanna walk alone, so let's get married

**Author's Note:**

> turns out i am the softest person alive okay
> 
> so this fic is very (VERY) loosely based on a comment i saw on askreddit once where the question was about rejected proposals and how person A's SO was really overexcited and asked person A to marry them way too early in their relationship, but then they eventually got married anyway (something like that). so i think we all know that brock is just a huge endearing puppy of a human and it all felt very brock/petey to me so now we have this
> 
> title comes from the bleacher's song "let's get married" (though do yourself a favor and listen to the mitski cover because you will cry)

**first!**

Elias and Brock have been best friends for a little over two years, but they’ve only been dating for a month when Brock asks Elias to marry him for the first time. Sure, the sex is great, but really, _one _month!

They’re on the road, in Vegas, when it happens. Brock drags Elias out of the room to go walk around the Strip, watching the drunk groups of women stumble around in their heels. They’re laughing about something inconsequential, arms wrapped around each other to stay warm, when they come across the Bellagio fountains just starting a new show.

“Whoa,” Elias mumbles. The water dances through the air and it’s like nothing he’s ever seen before. Brock rests his head on Elias’ shoulder and snuggles his hand deep into Elias’ pocket, lacing their fingers together. They stand quietly and watch with all the tourists and bachelorette parties, mesmerized by the show.

“Vegas is so… much,” Brock laughs at one point during the show. Elias giggles, because _so much_ is the perfect way to describe the city. He turns and kisses Brock’s hair, long and curling around his ear. No one gives them a second look, which is reassuring because everything about their relationship, the transition from best friends to best friends who also kiss and touch dicks and hold hands at dinner, is new and delicate. Elias wants to carry it as gently as he can. He wants to protect it, shelter it from all the bad and scary things in the world.

The show ends and the audience starts to dissipate, fanning out into the Vegas streets. Elias and Brock stay put a moment, holding each other under the lights, staring up at the night sky together.

Elias pulls Brock to face him, his arms locked around his waist. Brock is looking up at him with stars in his eyes, the same way he looked when Elias stuttered out an awkward confession in their hotel room during the All Star Weekend. 

(Elias said, “I think I think about you every day. First thing, last thing too.”

The stars in Brock’s eyes burned. “Petey, you’re like the fucking sun to me.”)

Brock is and has always been, if nothing else, a hopeless romantic, earnest and endeared and always trying to please Elias. So Elias already knows Brock’s about to say something ridiculous yet simultaneously adorable and lovable when he has that face. Brock leans up to kiss Elias, long but chaste, a little dry in the winter air. Elias smiles into the kiss.

When Brock pulls away, he says, “Petey, will you marry me? Tonight?”

Elias says, “What.”

It’s been one month. _One_.

Brock laughs. “Fuck, you’re right, sorry.” He shakes his head and lets it fall forward, head-butting Elias’ chest. “I just… I have a good feeling about this. About us. We’re gonna be something great.”

Elias is unbelievably fond, if also in disbelief. “Okay,” he replies, pulling Brock closer for a hug. Brock nestles his head into the crook of Elias’ neck and exhales out of his nose, tickling Elias’ skin.

“Do you wanna go look at the sharks in Mandalay Bay and forget I tried to get us to elope on a roadie?” Brock says through a laugh.

“That sounds pretty good.” They break the hug and then walk toward the hotel. The awkward moment is already forgotten; it’s always easy with Brock. “And if we do get married someday,” Elias says carefully, because of _course_ he’s thought about it, “we’re doing it in Vancouver. No Elvis impersonator.”

Brock laughs loudly at that, and nods.

_We’re gonna be something great_, Elias thinks. It’s still so soon, but he can’t help but agree.

**second!**

That summer, Brock comes to Sweden for the first time. Elias visited the lake last summer, back when they were pining miserably over each other, and they’re both ready for a much more enjoyable visit this time around. They hang out in Sundsvall, training and sight-seeing and failing to keep their hands off one another. It’s been about six months now, their first _I love you_s said at the end of the season, and everything’s been going perfectly smoothly.

It’s lucky, too, because they told the team and management, so now if they break up, one of them is certain to get traded. Elias doesn’t particularly them to break up _or_ for one of them to get traded. He’s perfectly happy keeping things the way they are right now, the teenager-esque newness of his relationship with Brock, the chemistry it brings to their hockey together. When they’re together, on the ice or off it, everything feels electric.

Emil and Fanny are around, and they hang out with their pets and train with Emil, but at the end of the day it’s just Elias and Brock alone together, in the kitchen and in the shower and in the bed. It’s only for the week, but Elias feels like he could get used to living with Brock. He could get used to sharing the shower and taking way too long under the spray, and dancing in the kitchen in their underwear while dinner burns.

One morning they go down to the water, clambering over the rocks right at the seaside and looking out over the harbor. They hold hands and watch the water move and twinkle under the summer sun. Eventually they find some flat rocks and sit side by side.

They jabber about dinner last night and their training for tomorrow, bickering about what to cook tonight and what to watch afterward.

Eventually Elias blows a raspberry and gives up. “When we go home, I’ll cook whatever you want,” he says, reaching over to mess with Brock’s hair.

“Mmm,” Brock hums, pleased with himself. Then he turns to Elias with a strange look on his face, like he’s thinking too hard about a play.

Elias raises his eyebrows questioningly at him. Brock’s hair is mussed, flopped over crookedly on his forehead. There are stars in his eyes.

Brock flattens his hair, then looks at his feet. When he looks back up, there’s a flush across his cheeks. “I love you, Elias,” he says. It’s slow, careful, the name silk on his tongue.

Elias blinks. _Elias_. Not Petey, but _Elias_, his given name. Somehow it’s more surprising, more intimate than when they said _I love you_ for the first time. He stares at Brock, unsure what to say. A smile works its way across his face.

“Alright,” he says.

“Is that okay?” Brock asks, suddenly looking unsure. “I’m working on my pronunciation and everything, promise.”

“Yeah, of course it’s okay,” Elias says. God, he’s so in love.

“Cool.” Brock stretches out, lying down and sunning himself on the rock. A stripe of his stomach is revealed, the firm plane of his stomach and the fine hair leading from the dip of his bellybutton to his waistline. Brock looks at Elias as he stares.

“Like what you see?” he teases.

“No, actually not,” Elias says, even as he reaches over to touch Brock’s exposed skin and run his fingertips over the hair below his bellybutton.

Brock shivers. “Fuck, I love you. Please marry me? Or take me back to your apartment and mess me up?”

Elias giggles and pokes Brock’s belly. “I can do the second one,” he says.

“Perfect,” Brock says.

Elias takes Brock home and then he takes Brock apart. Brock nearly falls right off the bed as his body shakes in pleasure, and in the back of Elias’ mind, he thinks about getting a bigger bed. King sized, big enough for the both of them, and Coolie too.

**third!**

The house is beautiful, pale blue and nestled in a comfortable neighborhood in Vancouver near a few teammates. Their voices echo through the empty as they start moving in boxes. They’ve been dating for two years but this is the first time they’ve lived together.

(Brock’s lease ended and he looked at Elias and said, “Let’s buy a house.” When Elias didn’t say anything, Brock took his hand and kissed his palm. He kissed his wrist, his shoulder, his cheek, his eyelid. “I’ll love you if you say no. I’ll love you even if you dump me and say you hate me and request a trade to Tampa.”

Elias giggled. “Shut up. I’m not requesting a trade to Tampa. Let’s do it. Let’s buy a house together.”)

Moving all the boxes takes a long time, because the house is big and Coolie is over-excited and they keep taking breaks to laugh and kiss in the hallways, leaning up against the walls and counters that are _theirs_. This is _their _place and no one else’s. The kitchen is theirs; no more Quinn leaving his dishes in the sink. The living area is theirs to put on whichever hockey game they want. The master bedroom is theirs to do _whatever_ they please, without fear of anyone hearing. The yard out back, trees with their pink springtime bulbs, is theirs to run around in with Coolie and host all their friends and family in.

“God, I can’t wait to christen every surface in this house,” Brock says slyly, spinning Elias around in the kitchen, crowding him up by the refrigerator.

“Only,” Elias says, holding Brock’s face and kissing him quickly, “once we finish moving the boxes inside.”

Brock groans. “Fine,” he whines. “But if we aren’t naked in an hour I’m not gonna be happy.”

They finish moving the boxes inside, even though they forgo emptying any of them, and are naked on the kitchen floor before sunset. They sit criss-cross on the back porch in their underwear and watch Coolie race around in circles as the sun goes down. Elias can feel Brock’s eyes on him, and he feels hot all over. 

Somehow, every touch still feels new, still feels like the All Star Weekend two years ago where they were late to every event because they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Brock still looks at him with stars in his eyes.

Brock says, “Can I ask you something?”

Elias nods.

“Promise you won’t laugh?”

Elias frowns, and nods again. He isn’t sure why Brock’s afraid he’ll laugh.

“It’s just… I love you so much. And with the house, and this yard, and everything, I think we might be ready?” Elias’ heart sinks as he realizes what Brock is saying. “Elias Pettersson, will you marry me?”

“Oh, Brock, wait, don’t ask,” Elias pleads. Brock’s face falls, and Elias’ heart breaks.

“Elias…” Brock says. His voice breaks. Elias feels like crying. There isn’t a thing he wouldn’t do for this man if he was able, but _this_, this he can’t do. 

“Brock, no, baby,” Elias says, shifting his body on the porch so he’s sitting by Brock’s feet, their legs tangled on the wood. Elias takes his hands. “I _want_ to. I want to marry you, just—”

“Then why not?” Brock says, looking at their entwined hands. Clearly this had been his plan, move in together then propose. Elias feels terrible, because they’ve mused about it over the past two years, decided on kids (just one) and names (_Pettersson-Boeser_, though they’ll make sure the online store sells _Boesersson_ jerseys too, just for fun), but something Brock’s never been good at understanding is that you can’t always jump in head first with no life jacket.

“We’re not ready yet,” Elias says. He reaches up to Brock’s face, brushing his long hair back behind his ear, rubbing his thumb tenderly down his temple and his cheek. “C’mon. Look at us. We _just_ moved in, and the house is a mess, and it needs work done, and Emil and Fanny are so busy with the new baby…” he trails off, thinking of all the reasons the timing isn’t right.

“But,” Brock starts to protest. He stops, and sighs. “You’re right.” He frowns, and Elias kisses the tip of his nose to make him smile again. “But you know I love you, right? If we elope right now, or even if we never get married. I’ll love you—”

“Even if I request a trade to Tampa?” Elias finishes. Brock nods, and they both hiccup out a few watery laughs. Elias pushes up onto his knees to crawl into Brock’s lap, straddling his hips and winding his hands around his neck. Brock puts his cold hands on Elias’ waist. “Listen,” Elias says, “when the house is ready, and our families are ready, and the grass is green, then we’ll get married. Here, in the backyard.” The golden light of the sunset bathes the yard. Coolie’s lying on his side with his tongue hanging out of his mouth.

“Alright,” Brock says, quietly. 

**fourth!**

They’re lying in bed, flat on their backs, breathing hard.

“Holy shit,” Brock says.

“Yeah,” Elias replies.

Elias has been out with an ankle injury for a few weeks, meaning he didn’t go on the roadie that Brock just got back from. Meaning that they haven’t seen each other or, more importantly, been able to touch each other in over a week. They’ve been together for five years now, but a week apart still feels like a long time.

“I missed your dick so much. Like, I missed you more, but your dick too.”

“I’m flattered.” Elias pushes himself up and over, sitting up in Brock’s lap. He runs his hands over Brock’s chest. Brock touches Elias’ hands, his forearms, his waist.

“Marry me?” Brock asks.

Elias rolls his eyes, laughs, then falls forward to kiss Brock. “Keep asking,” he says between kisses down his neck. “I’ll marry you soon. Not with my ankle fucked, but sometime soon. In the backyard, when the grass is green”

“Soon,” Brock says, a smile on his face and a hand on the dimple of Elias’ back.

**fifth!**

“Feel old yet?” Brock asks, faced turned toward Elias’ neck. They’re sitting in a massive beautiful barn watching Quinn have his first dance with his now-wife. Quinn was their rookie, the one they watched out for together, grabbing his ear and dragging him out of clubs during his stupidest teenage moments.

“Ancient,” Elias says.

“I don’t wanna be, like, corny, but he’s so fuckin’ grown up now.” Brock shakes his head in disbelief and Elias smiles fondly at him. He curls his hand around Brock’s arm, leaning against his shoulder. It’s been a good career together. A good life together.

“He’s a good man.” Elias is proud of Quinn. He’s proud of him and Brock, too. 

The reception is beautiful and Quinn looks the happiest they’ve ever seen him. His whole family is there, both blood and hockey. It makes for a great night, an open bar and lots of dancing with the barn doors open to the summer air and sunset outside.

They’re eating their cake when Quinn’s wife stands to do the bouquet toss. A mob of women rush onto the dance floor. There’s jostling and laughter and Quinn’s wife turns around, counting down and swinging her arms before tossing it back toward the rest of the people. Brock and Elias watch in amusement as the bouquet sails toward the outstretched arms of the women. Then, the bouquet flies just out of the reach of everyone and lands straight in Elias’ lap.

He looks straight at Brock with his mouth open in shock. Brock’s expression mirrors his own.

There’s silence for a moment. Then, Brock says, “Marry me?” and Elias bursts into laughter. The guys in the room whistle and yell as Elias pushes at Brock’s shoulder.

“You’re not allowed to propose at someone else’s wedding,” he chides, standing with the bouquet. He walks over to Sigrid, the shy girlfriend of one of their youngest teammates, another Swede. She’s quiet around the other partners and is still learning English. Elias hands her the bouquet. “He’s a good kid. We’ll make sure he treats you right,” he tells her in Swedish. She nods and accepts the bouquet.

Elias walks back over to Brock and bends down to kiss the top of his head. His hair is short now, cropped around his ears. Brock denies it, but these days a few strands are silver in certain lights. Elias finds it kind of sexy, but Brock could wear a paper bag on his head and Elias would like it. He pats Brock’s shoulder and Brock reaches up to grab his hand. “Sometime soon,” he says. “Just like we said.”

“Soon,” Brock echoes. Elias thinks, looking out at Quinn holding hands with his wife, _soon_ might be _really _soon. Lately, it seems like all the pieces have been falling into place.

Elias can’t wait. He looks up and Sigrid is laughing with her boyfriend about the bouquet. He’s red-faced and looks so young in his ill-fitting suit. Elias remembers early dates with Brock, both of them overdressed in game day suits, having to readjust every few minutes when they held hands and hitting their noses together when they kissed.

On the drive home, Brock and Elias hold hands on the center console, reaching out for one another without having to think about it. 

**one more!**

Vancouver is beautiful in the summer. They’re sticking around extra long this year, not for any particular reason, but just because they wanted one more week after the season ended for themselves before flying to Minnesota to start training. Plenty of guys are still around and Quinn’s wedding was a few days ago, so even the ones who went home already are back in town, coming around for dinner and hanging out the last couple nights.

Brock’s in the kitchen with Coolie, typing on his laptop, when Elias gets up in the morning. Elias considers them a moment, his little family. Coolie’s head is in Brock’s lap and Brock takes a second away from his computer to scratch behind his ears. He coos something at him, quiet enough that Elias can’t hear. Elias’ heart pounds in his chest; he’s never been so sure in his life of how he feels than in this moment. 

“Good morning,” Elias says, walking over to kiss the top of Brock’s head and pat Coolie.

“Morning,” Brock replies. He leans his face against Elias’ torso and breathes, just holding him for a second.

“Kiss me?” Elias asks, putting his hands on Brock’s shoulders. Brock looks up at him with a smile, stars in his eyes, and nods. He stands and they kiss, Coolie nosing at their legs.

Elias kisses Brock long and slow and practiced. After this long their bodies are meant to fit together, have grown to latch like puzzle pieces. They walk back slowly from the kitchen to the living room, past the tall windows. Vancouver’s sky is blue and the grass in their backyard is green. It’s summer and the world is alive.

Elias is nervous, somehow. There’s no reason for him to be. But he must admit that his palms are ever-so-slightly sweating when he drops down to his knee and takes Brock’s hand.

Brock grins. “Beat me to it, you sneak,” he says.

“Brock,” Elias says, holding Brock’s hand and inspecting it. They’re weathered hands, years of hockey but also yard work and projects around the house that take him ages to finish. “The first time you asked me to marry you was a month after we started dating.”

“You said, if I remember correctly, ‘what’,” Brock interjects.

“Be quiet while I’m being romantic! That was the first time you wanted to marry me. The first time I wanted to marry you was the next morning.” Elias has never told Brock this. “I woke up before you and we had to go to practice but I remember… I never wanted to get out of bed with you.”

A smile works its way onto Brock’s face. He looks like he might cry. Elias _feels_ like he might cry, so they’re in this together. “And now, with your sister having her new job, and Emil and Fanny moving into their new place, it finally—”

“Finally!” Brock interjects again, reaching out now to hold both his hands in Elias’. Their hands shake together.

“It’s definitely the right time. So, Brock Boeser… marry me?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Brock says, nodding. “Of course.” He pulls Elias up into a kiss, sweeping him into his arms and off of his feet the way he’s always done, the way he’s done over and over across the years.

It’s strange and watery and they’re both crying, but it’s perfect anyway. It’s summer in Vancouver and they’re in love, and they’re getting _married_, and nothing else matters.

**p.s.**

They get married in Vancouver the next summer, just like they always planned. The ceremony is short and sweet and they’re both complete wrecks during their vows. They host the reception in their backyard; the grass is green. All of their closest friends and teammates from over the years come to celebrate with them.

Elias tells Brock, “I love you.” He whispers it with their toes in the grass. He could scream it out to the ocean with its waves crashing onto Vancouver’s shores. “I’ll love you if the ocean swallows our city. I’ll love you if you get traded, or if you request a trade to Tampa. I’ll love you if we play here the rest of our careers.”

“I’ll still love you when they retire your number and not mine,” Brock replies.

“If Pettersson-Boeser’s going into the rafters,” Elias says, standing and pulling Brock to his feet with him, “it better be going up with two numbers.”

They dance together as the sun goes down, bathing them and the grass underneath them in golden light. Brock turns his face into the crook of Elias’ neck and breathes. “Elias,” he murmurs.

“Yeah?” Elias replies.

“Elias,” Brock says again, slowly, letting his name slip languidly from his lips. “Elias, Elias. My husband.”

Elias laughs breathily out of fondness. “I love you. My husband.” They spin in the dying light of the day. 

When they’re eating cake later, Elias turns to Brock and says, “If I had just said yes in Vegas, we could’ve been married for six years already.”

“Hey, that’s on you.” Brock gestures to Elias with his fork.

Elias shrugs. “It was more fun doing it this way. Plus, now we get to have newlywed sex in our own bed instead of a hotel in Vegas.”

They’re surrounded by their favorite people in the world, nieces and nephews running around squealing in the grass, teammates with wine in their hands and their arms around one another. Elias leans on Brock’s shoulder and they watch everyone dance. 

At the end of the night, everyone gone home and the two of them in bed together, discovering one another all over again as if it’s the first time, Brock pauses and looks at Elias curiously.

“What?” Elias asks. He’s out of breath and a little overcome. Brock still looks at him with stars in his eyes.

“Will you marry me?” Brock asks.

Elias laughs. “Yes, yes, whenever you want,” he replies, rolling them over and holding Brock in his arms. “As many times as you want.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> see i TOLD you i was soft. im so soft for them :')
> 
> <3


End file.
